


Mother, I've Got A Tall, Menacing Trooper In My Home, Oh God, There Goes The TV, Somebody Help

by mttism



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Other, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5711575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mttism/pseuds/mttism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Phasma gets sucked right on into our universe? What would happen? A lot of nonsense, that's for sure. A lot. Like, so much?? She doesn't even know what a spork is. And neither does my computer, it keeps trying to autocorrect the word 'spork' for some reason. Get yourself together, computer.</p><p>Also, there's like zero phasma/reader stuff, so I'm changing that right now immediately. I'll be making attempts at regular updates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Welp, this was certainly a strange predicament you found yourself in. Presently, you stared at the tall chrome stormtrooper captain as she lifted up a spork and looked to you with a tense posture.

“Is this a weapon?”

“No, that’s a spork.”

“Oh.”

This has been going on for three days. _Three. Days_. You had found the shiny warrior in an alley not too far from the cinema. She was lost, really angry, and nearly punched you in the face. You were just happy her blaster had no ammunition. You had only just seen the newest Star Wars movie, and you had immediately latched on to the lady memorized all who were under her command, was badass as all hell, and made your wee little heart beat for her. Of course this was before she materialized into real life. She kept asking if certain things were weapons, or could be used as one. It was kind of funny, but also not. Right now, she stood menacingly over a lamp. She kept prodding the lampshade.

It kind of reminded you of something, but you weren’t quite sure what.

“Is _this_ a weapon?” Phasma held up a set of keys, _your_ keys, and turned to you questioningly.

You wanted to say that, yes, those can be used as a weapon, but decided against it. It was hard enough to get her to toss her blaster, and you didn’t want to think of what else she would’ve warmed herself with. At one point, if you remember correctly, she had asked what a boxfan was, and if it was some sort of defense shield. You could only roll your eyes and begin the long and tedious path to ‘that’s not a weapon, stop asking, what are you a five-year-old, put down my cat, stop holding her like a gun, she’s only meowing because she doesn’t like you’.

“…. _No_.”

“You _hesitated_ ,” she stated, setting the keys down with a jingle before turning to face you. She strolled leisurely on over, and stood at least a foot over you. You swallowed.

“Hesitation is no good thing in a soldier, especially one that’s just a beginner. _Especially_ if you’re trying to lie.”

Your shoulders slouched as you let loose a long, deep sigh. You weren’t good at babysitting. You weren’t especially good at babysitting tall, demanding and kind of scary stormtrooper captains who were _super_ bossy, either. You were stuck in a rut.

Turning away, you dragged your hands down your face as you made way to your kitchen. “ _Why_ couldn’t I have been stuck with the _clones_? At least they would _listen._ ” You merely mumbled this. If your new captain had heard you, she had chosen to remain silent.

You heard the loud _clank-clank-clank_ of Phasma’s armoured bootsteps as she followed you. She was like a really big, lost, angry puppy that didn’t know what anything was. You plopped yourself down at your small kitchen table, and rested your head in your hands. You could feel a headache coming on.

“What’s this? Is it a—“

“ _No,_ it is _not_ a weapon, for the LAST time! Stop asking! I’m just trying to figure out how to send you back to your place, and—are you holding a butter knife no put that back that’s a weapon that IS a weapon PHASMA DO _NOT—“_

There goes that ugly candleholder with a baby Jesus on it. Apparently Phasma excelled in throwing knives, too. God, that visual dictionary was _not_ kidding about her.

But that was the least of your worries right now. You had a tall lady clad in big armour trumping around your house, and now there was glass all over your countertop. Your cat was probably hiding under your bed at this point. You swore you heard her muffled hissing.

Standing up, you briskly stormed into the kitchen, with just enough ferocity to make Phasma step out of the way. From what you could guess, she took your expression of exasperation and anger as a warning. You were thankful. Yay facial expressions.

Silence followed suit as you cleaned up her mess. You then put a babylock on the silverware drawer. You also put one on every other cabinet and drawer in the whole place. She wouldn’t know how that worked, and the only reason you had any at all was because most of your friends and family had children of their own and would visit every so often, leaving you only so much time to babyproof the everything.

After sweeping the bits of broken glass baby Jesus into a trashbag, you heaved a deep sigh and began to reevaluate yourself. Why the big, angry and shiny trashcan of the First Order? Why not Rey? Or Poe? They would’ve been easier to explain to your family. “Oh, yeah, I met this dashing lady/gentleman on a dating website! No, no, they aren’t a tall, menacing dumpster that could crush you with their pinkie finger!”

You heard a shift of armour behind you, and looked over your shoulder at your unexpected houseguest.

“What is it?” You asked, shooting her a suspicious glare, to which she turned her gaze downward some.

“Apologies for, uh… Destroying your glass ornament. With the disturbing infant on it. If I had the credits, I’ll buy you a new one?”

You sighed again, before cracking a small smile. It’ll take some time, but you’ll get her at least _somewhat_ adjusted to her new surroundings.

And it’s gonna have to start with that armour. It’s scuffing up your tile floor.


	2. No, You May NOT Wear Your Armour To The Supermarket, This Is The Last Time, No, Stop, My Cat Doesn't Take Your Side, She's a Cat

It’s been about a week, now, and you think the stormtrooper captain has finally settled in. Somewhat. You only have one bed, which is your own, so you’ve given her pillows and blankets and told her that the couch would have to do. She seemed so huffy about it, saying something along the lines of “A captain shouldn’t have to be reduced to such a thing unless on the battlefield” or whatever. It was kinda cute.

She was always up before you, at the crack of dawn. She was almost as bad as your cat, who would usually wake you up at six or seven in the morning to give her treats or to clean out her litterbox. Phasma, though?

About four in the morning.

Each morning you’d shoo her off and tell her to go make her own breakfast or to do whatever it was she  did, as long as it didn’t involve breaking anything or leaving your house. Usually when you woke up at around ten or eleven, she’d be seated at your table, still in her armour, reading the newspaper or trying to get your cat to come to her.

This morning, however, she had your cat in her lap as she pet (seemingly) happily, while reading one of your books. From the looks of it, it was one of those books for Dummies or whatever. What was it on?

…Baking, apparently.

You stood, slouched, still half-asleep in the doorway. Phasma looked up to you, as did your cat. There was a long silence. It seemed she was taking in your very rough and sleepy appearance. You were still in your PJs, your favorite baggy shirt hanging half off your shoulder. Your bedhead must be incredible, too.

“…What’re you lookin’ at, shiny?” You grumbled, turning to go into the kitchen. You needed coffee.

“Your appearance is most… Distasteful. Are you like this most mornings? I wouldn’t dare even ask what you look like earlier in the day.”

You glared at her in response, and you swore you heard her chuckle. Your cat simply yawned and stretched, sticking her feets out and making her paws go all goofy-looking. Y’know, when a cat spreads its toes. It’s cute but really funny. OK, enough about cats.

“So you wanna learn how to bake and cook, right?” You asked while you got out a mug and started up your coffee maker. You glanced over your shoulder to her, and noted her more relaxed posture. At least she was loosening up a bit. That was good, at least.

“I suppose so. You’ve nothing but ‘frozen dinners’ in your cold foodkeeper.”

“It’s called a fridge,” you snickered.

“Yes, _whatever_ ,” Phasma grunted.

“Well, if that’s the case,” the coffeemaker dinged, and you poured yourself a good mugful, going to get sweetners and cream, “then we’ll have to go ingredients shopping. And you are _not,_ ” you stopped a moment to take a sip, “going in your armour.”

Phasma nudged your cat until she hopped off. Standing up, the trooper made her way straight over to you. You guessed her ‘towering over you threatening’ was a tactic of hers, given her height. And appearance in general. Wow, she was really good at being intimidating.

“ _Nuh uh,_ not in my house! You will _not_ stand threateningly over me trying to convince me to let you leave with that armour on. I forbid it. _Don’t give me that posture!_ No!”

“Why _not?_ ” Phasma asked at last. She had her hand on her hip, her helmeted head tilted to the side. Her tone of voice vaguely reminded you of a sassy eight-year-old. And at this point, that was a pretty good description of how this tall war soldier was acting. How was that even possible?

“Be- _cause, Captain_ , and I’ve explained this a dozen times this week, people will stop you and smother you and ask for autographs or photos with you because they think you’re dressed up as a fictional character. Which you are, but you’re in the real world right now, which I’ll find a way to fix eventually.”

There was silence, before you heard her sigh quietly. “Very well. I suppose you have an _alternative_ uniform for me to wear, then?”

You were startled, at first. She was being compliant? And listened to you for the first time in days? Incredible! You had to take another sip of your coffee to be able to let this all sink in. But then it hit you.

“Aw, crap,” you said as you held your mug to your lips. None of your clothes could possibly fit her. She was too big, too tall and you figured you saw some muscle under the somewhat exposed black fabrics that sat under the armour. Of course, that could just be your eyes playing tricks on you, but you weren’t sure just yet.

“I’ll have to buy you some new clothes that’ll fit. What size pants do you wear? Same with like, undergarments or whatever?” You shimmied past her with your mug before taking her previous spot at the table. It was cluttered, but not enough to cause any sort of issue with placing things on it or causing an avalanche if you removed even a tissue.

Well, not _entirely._ That was your computer desk. You think you lost a slice of pizza somewhere in that mess. But that wasn’t important right now.

She turned to face you as you sat down, and lifted a hand with a pointed index finger, like she was about to say something, then lowered her hand, then lifted it again, then lowered it again. During this, you had tugged a pen and notepad out from under some half-folded towels and began to make a list. Better now than not, at this point.

A long, agonizing silence followed. You heard your cat brush up against Phasma’s leg, to which she shifted her gaze downward to look at the feline. You furrowed your brow. How come she was never cuddly with _you_ like that? She always stuck her butt in your face when you tried to sleep in. What a jerk. Cats are jerks.

“…You don’t know, do you?” You asked, deadpanning at the thought.

“Your pet agrees with me that I should not have to change out of my armour,” Phasma said at last, pointing to your traitor of a cat. Heh. Traitor. That was a meme at this point, wasn’t it? Wait, that isn’t important right now.

“My cat’s a _cat_. She can’t _speak_. _You_ don’t speak cat. How could she possibly agree with you? All she did was rub against your leg—hey, put her down! She’s not allowed on the counter—Are you even listening to me?”

“She likes to feel tall,” came Phasma’s only reply as she set her down. There would be hair everywhere for weeks, now.

You gave up, just then. You gently slammed your head onto your table, groaning in exasperation. This was gonna be a long day. A _really_ long day.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sinning continues, my friends, in a new chapter where phasma tries to make a cat side with her. incredible.
> 
> if you want to get in contact with me or want to know when this updates or just like memes and shiny trashcan wives who can lift ten emo baby kylo rens and seven grumpy gay huxs, go follow my blog on tumblr!  
> http://mugggy.tumblr.com/


	3. What's It Like Taking A War Captain Shopping? It's Like Taking Your Grandma Out For Food But She Keeps Mispronouncing All The Cool Hip Places In Town & Saying Teenagers Need Hobbies. Or Something. And The Crowds Oh God The Crowds Don't  Get Me started

In short, Phasma won. It was either leave her at home alone like some sort of irresponsible parent to a young child, make her squeeze into some of your clothes, or just let her wear her armour until you got her the right clothes.

It was the latter, and you had to keep her away from as many prying eyes as possible. Which meant going to discount places with cheap stuff. You went to this one place, Ross’s, frequently. They had a lot of nice things there, ranging from just three dollars to about fifty if you wanted a nice prom dress. Not many went there, especially on a Wednesday, so you figured the coast was clear save for the employees. That shouldn’t be _too_ hard to explain, at least. You had a lie already conjured up anyway, so you figured you were going to be fine.

The ride there was quiet, save for when Phasma would ask what something was. It was kind of cute, in a really stupid way. Big bad bossleader didn’t know what something was, but wasn’t afraid to ask. Despite her whole intimidation acts and the likes, Phasma in whole was pretty endearing. You wondered how she ever got involved with the First Order to begin with.

Upon arrival, it was almost impossible to get her to enter the building. She kept saying that the doors would try to crush her, and how she didn’t want to deal with repair expenses, and you kept trying to tell her that no, that wouldn’t happen, they don’t do that unless they malfunction, which never happens. In the end, you had to convince her that the Force made the doors open and close, and that she had to think _really hard_ to get them to open and stay open. It was comical in every single way.

 _Eventually,_ you got her inside. You kept an eye on her, making sure she stayed behind you at all times. For safety reasons, of course. You didn’t want to lose her and then later on learn that the police got ahold of her because she threatened some schoolchildren to join the Dark Side.

“How about this?” You asked, holding up a dark grey shirt with black horizontal stripes on it. She gave it a once-over, before shaking her head. You added it to the cart anyway.

“These jeans would look nice on you,” you spoke, showing her a pair of bleached light blue pants. Again, she shook her head. Again, you added them to the cart. From luck and observation, you noted that these would fit. You picked out some other clothes in the same size, before beginning your trek into the unknown.

The _underwear_ section.

She was almost repulsed at the sight before her. “You leave your unpurchased undergarments out in the open like this? For the public eye? Your cultural is disgraceful! You’re all primitive hooligans!”

Her ranting and raving left you unaffected. “What size do you wear?” You asked as you picked through the feminine garmets. Silence followed suit, and you looked to her. She had gone quiet and simply stared. Eventually, she replied.

“…DD32.”

“Alright. Pick your colours. I’ll find you some underpants.”

You went an aisle over to check out the panties. Jeez, were they all always this revealing and dysfunctional? Whatever, you’ll just have to get her the ones that looked like granny panties. If Phasma didn’t like it, than she can deal with lacy unpractical wear herself. And she wouldn’t be allowed to complain.

After just grabbing a bunch, you tossed them into the cart before returning to Phasma. The sight before you had you doubling over in laughter.

She was holding one of the brightly coloured bras up to her chest, seemingly inspecting it. Though from where you stood, it looked like she had it on _over_ the armour. Immediately after, she threw the bra at you and it hit you in the face, though you continued to laugh.

“Cease and desist! I was simply inspecting the garment! That is no laughing matter!” She hissed, her defenses up right away. Despite what was written about her, she clearly liked to be private about certain things. Understandable, but _still._

“Sorry, sorry!” You picked the bra up and held it in front of it, checking it out yourself. “Do you like this one? We can get it if you want.”

She shook her head no, to which you tossed it into the cart. She may have been big and tough, but she was really quite easy to read. Like a kid just learning to speak, ‘no’ usually meant ‘yea I want that cool thing or whatever’.

Clothes shopping when relatively quickly, which you were heavily thankful for. She made a questionable statement on one of the shirts you got her, but other than that? She was perfect. And buying said clothes was easy as well. When asked about the shiny trooper by your side, you simply explained that she was a friend staying over and she had lost her luggage on the flight over. She made no counter comment on your obvious lie, and rather simply remained silent.

Your things were being scanned and bagged. And then you felt _it._ That overwhelming sense of dread and anxiety, washing over you like a wave of thick ocean water. You looked up and toward the exit, and saw a large crowd of people making their way toward Ross’s, and knew exactly what was up.

“Aw, _crap._ ”

The cashier looked to where you were looking, and repeated your exact reaction.

He began scanning and bagging faster, going into Painfully Alert Worker Mode. Poor guy probably had to work Black Fridays. From your experience, that stuff was _terrifying_. 0/10 not recommended.

You jerked your head to Phasma, who stood stiffly close to you. “You will not leave my side until we’re safely out of here, got it? You’re in unknown territory and you will get lost. I don’t care if you have military training or not. Hey, are you listening to me?” You snapped your fingers at her, and she turned her gaze to you. Or, well, you assumed. She was wearing a helmet, so it was a bit hard to see her face.

“…Right. Of course. Does this usually happen?” She asked, her sights turning back to the now entering crowd of people. Where’d they even come from, anyway?

“Not usually,” the cashier answered for you, though the fear that was written over his face told you everything you needed to know. He finished ringing you up, and you tore open your wallet and pulled out your cash, handing it to him. He took it, opened the register, counted out the change, before handing it back.

Suddenly, the doors opened, and the people poured in, loudly talking, chattering, being loud in general. Oh, God, you hated crowds. They always made you anxious beyond belief. Phasma seemed to notice this, and placed a hand on your shoulder. You looked to her, before giving her a hesitant nod. You loaded up the bags, waiting for an opening, before making a mad dash for the only exit there.

Well, speedwalking. You weren’t sprinting or anything. Just walking _really_ fast. There was a moment you thought you had lost Phasma, but she was speedwalking right behind you, nearly stepping on your heels along the way. The both of you nearly ran into a few people, and you could see the end of the  tunnel of people. You were _close,_ so so _so **close**._

**And then it happened.**

The thing you wanted to avoid. Fans, Star Wars fans, easily spotting Phasma’s shiny chrome armour.

“Look! Cosplayer!” One person had shouted, going as far as shoving somebody in their way to get over to her. She flinched, before standing behind you, crouching even.

“Captain Phasma! Can I have your picture! Why’re you hiding! Get back here!”

You tried to tell her that you two were almost there, almost out, and after you made it past the people you could book it back to your car, but she was snatched right from beside you. You had been to cons, had seen how the goers there treated good cosplayers. Touching them without asking, being rude, being _handsy_ especially. Oh, God, they had her and there was almost nothing you could do.

Well, there was _one_ thing.

“Get your hands _off_ my girlfriend! Harrassment! I’ll call the police!” You shouted as loud as possible. You dropped the bags of clothes and whipped out your cell, your fingers hovering over the dialpad. They all stopped, looked to you, and let go of Phasma. She took that opening to make her way immediately over to you, leaving the others in mild bemusement.

“Pick up the bags, honey. We’re _leaving._ ”

She took it as a direct order and did as she was told immediately. The fanpeople shot you some funny looks, but remained where they were and simply watched you two leave. You briskly walked to your car, Phasma following right beside you.

You didn’t pocket your phone until the bags were put in your trunk and you were both safely in the car with the doors locked. You sighed, set your phone down, and started the ignition. Then you pulled back, and took off to your home. You both remained silent.

“….Thank you.” She said at last.

“No problem.” Came your nonchalant response.

“Why did you call me your significant other?”

“It makes people stop to think for a second. Gave you a window of opportunity, too, didn’t it?”

“Mm. I suppose you’re right.”

The rest of the drive home was silent after that. You were thankful nothing terrible had happened. You figured you would let her stay home for a bit while you went grocery shopping yourself. You needed some time alone to think, anyway. You’d let her figure out her own outfits herself.

“How’s lasagna sound for dinner?” You asked.

“What is ‘las-ag-na’?” She asked.

You laughed, and shook your head. Foodtime was gonna be a time of _discovery_ with this soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [singsong voice] if u hate crowds and everpresent dread clap your hands *clapclap*
> 
> if you want to get in contact with me or want to know when this updates or just like memes and shiny trashcan wives who can lift ten emo baby kylo rens and seven grumpy gay huxs, go follow my blog on tumblr!  
> http://mugggy.tumblr.com/


	4. There's Some Drama In This One

APPARENTLY,  getting the First Order Army General dressed was _wayyy_ harder than one would think. Harder than dressing a baby. Harder than anything. Literally. Apparently bras were different where she came from compared to where you come from. On the way home, she kept making comments on how indecent it was for others to see the undergarments of another. You could only roll your eyes, tell her that that was simply her opinion, before the silence settled between you two like ususal. Good God, it was like you were in a sitcom with Phasma. It drove you _nuts_. You were thankful there weren’t any annoying laughtracks anywhere.

Presently, you were standing outside the bathroom door, some clothes folded neatly over your arm. You had to turn the shower on for her, make sure it wasn’t too hot, and then tell her which shampoo to use. You never thought of how differing your world and hers were, up until now. She seemed to know the rest from there, to which you were grateful. Though, while she bathed, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts _wander_.

_What does she look like without that helmet?_

Lord only knows. Albeit your curiosity, it wasn’t your place to ask. Though, you would likely figure out sooner or later. It probably got hot in there. And besides, how did she eat and drink? Wait, now that you thought about it, you never actually _saw_ her consume anything or remove the helmet. Not even lift it up a bit. The woman was nothing but strange, as far as you could tell. You were honestly seeing another side of the character who only had five words before being sent into the garbage chute.  You wondered, though, at what point in the movie was she brought to your universe? Perhaps you should make some hints at certain things, see if she reacts…

The door opened, and you saw an ungloved hand reach out.

“The clothes,” came Phasma’s voice. It brought you out of your thoughts as you handed them to her.

“Think you can figure out things fine by yourself?” You asked as the door was closed. You heard her huff in response, before hearing something get knocked over. Probably something you left out on the counter.

“ _Of course,_ ” she reassured. “I’m not some child who can’t stand on their own.”

For a second, you almost believed her. When that door opened, you took notice of two things.

One: how muscular she looked. Damn.

And, two: Her shirt was on inside out, and her pants were on backwards. How did she even manage that?

Wait, wait, there’s a third thing you noticed.

She had her helmet on.

“Oh, my _God!_ ” You threw your hands up, before dropping them in to cross them over your chest. “You’re a _mess._ And your hair isn’t going to dry with your helmet on. Just take it off. It isn’t like you’re gonna scare me away. I’ve had to deal with you in full battle armour, scuffing up my floor and letting my cat crawl around on your shoulders.”

Your sudden risen tone of voice made her stiffen a bit, though your words made her cross her arms and turn her head away from you. “I do as I please, thank you very much.”

You groaned loudly, shaking your head at her. She scoffed at you.

“ _Look,_ ” you started, unfolding your arms and gesturing to all of her, “get your shirt and pants on right, and we can talk about your helmet later. Also, you’re in _my_ house, therefore you go by _my_ rules. And one of the rules involves no helmets at the dinner table. Now sort yourself out and come down to the kitchen to help me make the lasagna.”

Before Phasma could protest, you turned on your heels and pointedly made your way to the kitchen, just like you said. You heard her reenter the bathroom and shut the door behind her. At least she listened to you again. You wondered if she was going to get used to somebody shorter than her telling her what to do.

Upon entrance, you quickly got the needed assortments for making some tasty lasagna. Pan, check, those big noodle things, check, sauce, check. The other stuff that you can’t remember the name of*, check. It looked like you were good to go. You just needed to wait for Phasma to get her butt out to help.

You were about to get on your phone to screw around for a bit as entertainment, but lo and behold the Devil walks in and is still wearing that damned (cool) helmet. Her clothes were all fixed, though, so that was a plus.

“Helmet off, P,” you said flatly.

“But-“

“I said off.”

There was no hesitation. In fact, there was no nothing. She just stood there, staring at you. You wondered if she was angry or something. If she was, she could take it out on the lasagna. After you made it. Not before or during. That would just be a big mess and then there wouldn’t be any food.

You were about to turn your back to her, but it seemed she did it first. Just like that, she walked out of the room, heading straight for the exit. You didn’t know what she was doing at first, but when it finally clicked, she was half-way out the front door and you were at the other end of the short hallway.

“Stop! Hey, wait a second! You can’t just _leave!_ ”

“I think I _can_ ‘just leave’, [y/n]. If you can’t respect what boundaries I’ve set up, than obviously I should take my leave.” She piped.

The door was slammed in your face, and you quickly swung it open, shoving past the screen door and bounding out to catch up. “Phasma, please wait! I’m sorry!” You called, reaching out. You managed to snag a hold onto her shirt sleeve. She turned and looked like she was about to hit you, making you flinch back.

However, nothing happened. You looked up to her, and saw her hesitate, before she spoke.

“…I’m sorry. That was very unprofessional of me.”

You figured she was going to say more but, no. Nothing else followed. Just silence. Painstakingly harsh and heavy silence. You briefly turned your gaze skyward, noticing big dark clouds looming overhead. Thunderheads, too.

“…Let’s go inside. It looks like it’s gonna rain. Plus, I’m hungry and need your help.”

You let go of her sleeve, though your hand trailed down and took hold of her hand. You wordlessly lead her back inside. She did not protest.

Once inside, you closed the door behind you, and then turned your attention to Phasma again. She wasn’t looking at you, and simply had her back facing you now. Was she… Was she throwing a sort of fit? Did Kylo Ren rub off on her? To think it’d be so unlike her, but, given the situation… You really couldn’t blame her.

She was stuck in an unknown place with so many foreign things being tossed at her all at once, all the while having to ditch the one thing she was most familiar with, that being her armour. She seemed even more reluctant to remove the helmet, as well. That was a given. You wondered if she even took it off while in the shower. _Ew._

“Are you OK?” You asked at last, pressing your back to the door. Her body movements told you that she wanted to say something, but she simply just didn’t know how to word it right. For now, at least.

“…Look, P, my dude, my pal, buddy, chum, my—“ “Get to the point.” “—OK. You don’t have to take your helmet off. You can tell me if I’m being rude or stepping over your boundaries. You need to communicate that to me, though. You want to go home, I want you to go home. We have the same goal in sight, and the only way to achieve it is through teamwork. OK?”

She hesitated, before mumbling a quiet “OK” in reply. Neither of you moved, still, though. The air felt tense, and you simply wondered what was on her mind at the moment. You wondered more still if she was willing to tell you it. If not, well, that’s OK too.

Finally, she turned to you, and took a short stride closer. You stiffened, because honestly? She’ll never stop being intimidating. You had to tell yourself to take a deep breath and to not freak out like you did when you first met her.

Slowly, she reached up to her helm, clasping her hands onto the edges. There was a hesitation. She was going to take her helmet off? For you? Wowie, she must’ve been coming ‘round really fast now.

…Though, the suspense was killing you. She was very hesitant, now. She would tighten her grip on her helmet, then loosen it, then tighten it again, then loosen it again. Finally, you reached up, getting onto your tippy toes, and gently rested your hands upon hers. She shifted her head a bit to look to you, and you gave her a reassuring smile.

You both pulled the chrome helmet off, slowly. You saw usual things; slim lips, a small scar on her chin, a slightly larger scar on her jaw,  a nicely defined nose, great cheekbones, even greater, pretty dark eyes, short blond hair, swayed to the side…

You felt the heat rush up almost immediately as you gazed upon the face of the prettiest person you’ve ever seen. Prettier than Poe, even. And _that’s_ saying something. You wanted to say something, _anything,_ but a weird, quiet noise came out of your slightly ajar mouth instead, making you blush even more. Phasma didn’t seem to like this.

Her brows furrowed in slight worry as she went to put her helmet back on. “I’m sorry, this was a mistake—“ You stopped her, shaking your head almost violently.

“No, no no no! Not at all! Don’t do that!” You quickly snatched the helmet away, though not out of arm’s length in case she wanted to get it back. You locked eyes with her, and had a sort of stare-down. Her dark eyes, stuck with your [e/c] eyes.

Dinner was gonna have to wait.

 

*obviously I just don’t remember the ingredients for lasagna so I improvised unsuccessfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INTENSITY AND PRETTY EYES OH GOD IM SO GAY FOR GWENDOLINE CHRISTIE
> 
> if you want to get in contact with me or want to know when this updates or just like memes and shiny trashcan wives who can lift ten emo baby kylo rens and seven grumpy gay huxs, go follow my blog on tumblr!  
> http://mugggy.tumblr.com/


	5. something's burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter, something is burning.

Eventually you stopped staring at the face of Phasma and awkwardly gestured toward the kitchen, saying you were hungry and that you were sure she was as well. She didn’t really say too much after the little incident, but hey, neither did you. It was an awkward, mutually understanding silence, with which you have never experienced before. You were just experiencing a lot of different things since Phasma showed up. Not that you were _complaining._

Though, you _could_ if you wanted to.

Regardless, the making of the eatables needed to be completed in order for a good night’s sleep, because who ever knows what tomorrow could hold. You already had all the things you needed out, so you already got to work. You’ve made lasagna before. Lots of times. Just like spaghetti. And, uh, eggs. And store-bought waffles too!

Yeah, you weren’t much of a cook.

And from all the cooking books that Phasma found laying around, you guessed she wasn’t much of one either.

Give or take some life-or-death situations (more like missions), but that required like, uh, edible things. Mostly. Look, surviving out in the wilderness or the frozen wasteland was probably really, _really_ hard. And you admired people who did that for a living, or just because they wanted to, or whatever their reasoning or purposes were. No, you _respected_ those people. And also kinda feared them a lot.

But lasagna was right now, and right now you were probably putting the sauce in too soon.

 

After about, let’s say… Fifteen minutes of continuously messing up and making mistakes, you had lasagna!

Now you had to cook it.

Oh, God.

The entire time you kept muttering curses and trying not to stab yourself with a spoon (somehow), Phasma kept asking if you needed assistance. You kept saying that no, you had this. You always had this. You said you were _skilled_ at making lasagna. You might’ve been lying a little bit, there. But she didn’t have to know that, now did she? Nope. Not at all.

Of course she could probably tell anyway. But that’s not important.

“Turn the oven on for me, please. Set for bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit.  Got it?”

You got the response of silence. You were about to turn around to see if she had even heard you, but Phasma immediately pressed her hand to your cheek to make you look away.

“Yes, yes! I’ve got it! Er, Fahrenheit! Yes! I know exactly what that is. A Fahrenheit. The Fahrenheit in which is a degree of heat. That you asked me to do. Yes.”

….

That right there was suspicious. What, was she Kronk now? Wait, that was a good joke, but you couldn’t say it because she wouldn’t understand the reference. You’ll have to do something about that. You were about to say _something,_ before big muscular arms reached around you, grabbed onto the pan containing the (not-at-all-deformed) lasagna, and watched as it went up and right over your head. You then heard the oven door open, then close just as quickly as something was put in.

You turned around, but was met with being picked up and carried out of the room. Uh-oh.

“What did you do?” You asked, frowning. Her jaw tightened momentarily, before going soft.

“Nothing.” Short reply. Too quick. Oh, boy.

“P, put me down.”

She did so.

You faced her and crossed your arms over your chest, taking on that posture of “don’t lie to me, I’m like a mom so I sorta know what’s going on though not entirely”. You may or may not have picked it up from babysitting some friends’ kids.

Silence settled between the two of you. Phasma’s face scrunched up, before softening just a little bit. She was thinking on what to say, you gandered. She was also kind of fiddling with her hands, which was usually another indicating that she was trying to figure out how to break the news to you.

“I lit your stovetop on fire.”

You opened your mouth. Then you closed it. Then you opened it again, before taking on a severely _confused_ expression. It would’ve made Phasma laugh, had the situation not been what it was.

“The stovetop wasn’t even _on,_ ” you pointed out, “how did you even manage that?”

She was about to reply, before your fire-detector went off. Oh, good God, it was going to be one of _those_ nights*.

Whipping out your phone, you hit speeddial and listened to the phone as it went to connect you through. Phasma was, in the background, lecturing you about how “now is an inappropriate time to contact your friends” and also “you aren’t listening to me are you your residence is about to be set ablaze” and then the “oh no your cat where is she”.

The phone picked up, and you didn’t even have to say anything for the friendly voice of your friend to say “I’m on my way.” Before he hung up on you. You stuffed your phone away, and looked to Phasma.

“My friend is going to help. And I’m allowed to contact my friends in any situation. And I was listening, or else I wouldn’t be responding. And also, my cat’ll be fine. Mimi knows what to do in case of something like this. It happens a lot so she’s good.”

She was about to respond, either to yell at you or say “This is a frequent anomaly???”, but with the sound of your door being kicked open and big footsteps running in, you simply ushered her to stand aside.

You had a friend. His name was Charlie. Pretty cute, but not really your type. He is a firefighter, and how you two met was one fateful night, when you first moved in…

And also the night you destroyed your whole kitchen. It happened again the following week. And the week after that. And it happened so frequently that you befriended almost all of the firefighters in town. They were all very swell people. You were just super lucky to have Charlie as your neighbor because, well, when you found that out, he gave you his number and told you that if you ever called, he would know immediately what was up, and would be over lickety-split with at least _three_ fire extinguishers to put out whatever mess it was that happened.

Sometimes you two go out to the movies, and hang out, and play games together and be real good pals. You tried dating him for a bit, but it just never worked out. He got tired of your ‘sick burn’ puns, but he was a hypocrite. Charlie was a really big hypocrite. He made _such_ terrible puns all the time. You think some of his co-workers hated him too.

 _Anyway,_ enough about Charlie. You couldn’t help but marvel at Phasma’s expression as this guy, just as big as her, came barging in to put out the fire that likely obliterated your dinner. And maybe your stove/oven, too, but those are replaceable.

There was a lot of noise, for a few minutes. Mimi, your kitty-cat and chilliest living thing on the face of this planet (after she got used to it) came striding up and rubbed her head lovingly onto Phasma’s leg. Charlie came up, wiping some sweat and grit from his forehead. You waved. He smiled in return.

“Who’s your friend?” He asked as he stopped in front of the two of you, plus Mimi.

“She, uh.. She’s, um. Her name is Callie. She’s a friend, visiting from… California. Gonna stay here a while, get her life sorted out. Go to the gym a lot.” Wow. _Real_ convincing you were.

“Oh,” Charlie said, bending down to pet Mimi. “That’s cool. Maybe we could go together sometime. You could spot me and I could spot you.” He looked up to Phasma, or ‘Callie’ for now, and smiled.

She… _Awkwardly_ returned the smile. It was really forced. And it was really obvious that it was really forced. “….Yes. I would enjoy that. Of course.”

Charlie continued to pet Mimi. Phasma continued to be awkward and forcefully smile. You scratched at your cheek.

“Guess I’m gonna go order take-out, now. Any preferences, Callie?” You pulled your phone out and walked between the two, easily stepping over Mimi who didn’t give two flips. She simply mumbled something in reply, and you pretended you understood as you went into another room.

“So, Callie from California, huh?” Charlie stood up, coming to her exact height.  She clenched her jaw as she locked eyes with him.

“ _Yes._ Callie from California. Is there something wrong with that?” If you were there, you probably would’ve gotten on to her about being so hostile. But you weren’t there, so you couldn’t. You were ordering ‘take-out’, whatever that might’ve been. And you had left her with this strange guy, who was just… He was just strange. That was all she could do to describe him.

He had this serious aura about him. He didn’t seem so kind all of a sudden, especially after you left. He then spoke, breaking the silence, but the tension remained strong.

“You cause the fire, or did [y/n]?”

“….I did. It was an accident, however. Those tend to happen.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” He turned to leave, though kept eye-contact with Phasma up until he was fully turned around.

“If I hear that they got hurt, you’re gonna be held responsible. Got it, _Callie_?”

She stiffened. Then spoke. “…Understood.”

And like that, Charlie left. You returned, closing the door behind him after calling out a ‘good-bye’. You turned only to run into Phasma, who in turn ushered you away from the door. Mimi followed.

“Something wrong?” You inquired, blinking up at her. She only shook her head.

“May we watch one of your ‘moo-vees’? I’m quite bored at the moment, and I can only assume that we have to wait for our food to get here.”

Your face immediately lit up.

“ _Indiana Jones marathon!_ ”

 

*I can’t cook worth my life, therefore neither can you, reader.


	6. Here's to Cheesy Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lemme know if there are any mistakes or spelling errors; i'm too lazy to reread my own stuff and check for mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy!!! shit boy!!! an update comes through the thick fog!! sorry for being so lax on this, i've been wanting to come back for a long time now. i only JUST finished this chapter anyway. its cheesy. also there goes the tv. just like in the title!! almost like foreshadowing. anyway theres some foreshadowing in this anyway. good luck deciphering it. it starts with "big bad". and is in future chapters where trust is destroyed and--oooh, i've said too much. ANYWAY.

A fight broke out between you and Phasma. A pretty bad one, to say the least. Maybe things were thrown, but she was the one to throw them. You didn’t throw anything. Save for maybe a pillow or bottled water. Or several. It really depends, though. You weren’t keeping track of what was being thrown and what wasn’t.

The context to the situation, though?

_Mario Kart._

You picked it, unbeknownst to you, that she was good at it. And you didn’t even think that such a thing was possible. Like, Wiis and Mario Kart and Nintendo didn’t exist in the Star Wars universe??As far as you could tell, at least. They never got into the mundane things like that. Maybe it did? If so, well, Phasma was probably a pro at it. Was it a hobby, maybe? Did she do it for sport?

…Did others have to explain to her how the controllers worked, then, too?

What was the deal with it?

That’s beside the point, though.

Your T.V. may or may not have been broken due to a controller not being fastened around a certain wrist accordingly. You didn’t have the steering wheel thingies, so you were just stuck with the controllers as is. You weren’t _complaining,_ of course. It was a fun game to play.

If you wanted to ruin friendships.

Things were tense between you and her, as she stomped off into your backyard and you went into your bedroom to scream into a pillow and also kind of shake a lot because, y’know, despite Phasma having softened up a bit, she was _still_ a villain, who lived in your home, now. With you. She has killed people, too. That was a thing. And she’s pretty scary in general.

And you kind of really hoped you didn’t get on her bad side. Because that’d be bad. Being on her bad side. Very bad. You should stop saying ‘bad’ now.

…

About fifteen minutes passed when you heard the backdoor open and close, and soft footfalls throughout the place echoed until they got a little louder, a little closer.

At some point, you heard a quiet “hello, Mimi” before the footsteps stopped right outside your door. You felt your heart rate speed up, but not in the good way. What if she was going to hurt you? What would you even do? She was super big and strong, she could easily rip your—wait, now she’s knocking at the door.

“…..mwhjat” came your muffled reply. You still had your head in your pillow.

“Are you…Angry, with me, [y/n]?” She asked.

Your voice cracked when you replied with a “ _No!_ ”

That meant that you were still a little angry with her.

And she knew that too.

“Well. I understand if you never wish to see me again,” she began.  You heard her lean against the door, as it creaked some against her weight. “But seeing as I’ve no place else to go, I’m moving in. So I suppose that’s going to be a little difficult.”

She heard your muffled laugh, and chuckled a bit herself. You crawled out of your bed, and went over to the door. You opened it, and nearly had the Captain crush you. You _probably_ should’ve warned her about opening the door but, uh. You _forgot_.

“Sorry! Sorry,” you said, helping her regain her balance. She brushed her hair back, getting it out of her face, before she looked down at you with those piercing blue eyes. Your [e/c] eyes pierced right back, or at least as piercing as you could manage in a situation where somebody was taller and more menacing than you.

Phasma sighed, though, and rested a hand on the top of your head. “I’m sorry,” she said, furrowing her brows. “Hopefully you will not be mad at me forever.”

You contemplated. You _could._ But do you _want_ to? No. Not really. You can’t be mad at somebody so attractive anyway. So, you crossed your arms, puffed out your chest, and tried to look as dead-serious as you could possibly muster.

“Fine, fine, I’ll forgive you. But you have to clean out Mimi’s literbox for a _month._ ” The groan enough was a response that made you grin, even against your will. You knew how much she didn’t like doing stuff like that, saying things along the lines of ‘this is not the type of work a captain should be doing’. She also didn’t like folding laundry. It always made her disgruntled.

Regardless, though, you two made up and things were set back to normal. Maybe a little quieter than before but, well, it was enough for you. You got to making dinner, mac n cheese tonight, and Phasma began to set up the tablet and clear off spaces for you two to sit. She even fed Mimi, which was pretty nice.

Once dinner was done and you both sat down, no words were spoken. She was being awfully quiet and you weren’t quite sure why.

“Hey, P?”

“Yes?”

“Why’re you so quiet?”

“It’s… Nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing if you’re so contemplative of it.”

She hesitated, before taking a bite of her food, chewing it with a look of deep thought dancing around on her features. Which was pretty interesting, since she had some cheese on her face. That was cute in and of itself though. _Uber_ cute. It was…. _Cheesy._

Cue internal groaning at your own self.

Then, Phasma spoke, breaking her thoughtful silence, which snapped you back into the here-and-now, and no more punny thoughts were had.

“I am not of your world,” she began slowly, trying to find the right words to say what she wants to say. “There’s still a lot that I fail to understand, and now you have another person you have to support, and I feel… Burdening, to you, to say the least. I feel like I should return to where I belong, and I simply do not belong here.”

“Oh, P, stop that talk. Sure you’re a big, bad, First Order Captain who has killed a lot of people, and here you’re more like a confused child just learning to talk, but you’re my _friend,_ and friends look out for friends, always.”

You could have worded that better. You internally wince at your own words but, Phasma simply gave a small short, before going back to eating her food. You did as well. And silence fell, leaving things quiet as ever save for the sounds of food-eating.

“Also, you’re better security than my cat, so I welcome you with open arms. You never know when somebody is going to try to break in.”

“Of course.”

“Mhm.”

“….[Y/N]?”

“Yes, P?”

“I appreciate this.”

“I know.”

And the two of you finished eating dinner, watched some TV (despite it being broken; the screen is cracked but you'll live), and then went to bed.

Things were tough, but you’ll make it.

You two have each other, of course.

And that’s enough.


	7. Bonus Chapter! The Poncho Outfit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the poncho outfit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to say ive had this in mind and have been planning it for a while is an understatement. it needed to happen. so i made it so. ALSO HAHA MEMES. IM 'HIP'.

BONUS CHAPTER

 

Phasma had taken to rummaging around through some of your old, boxed up stuff you kept in a dusty, spidery-ass corner of your home. You didn’t really dispute it, honestly. You didn’t mind at all. Not like you had anything to hide anyway. There was a reason it was all boxed up to begin with. It just wasn’t _useful_ anymore.

And, well, you got _lazy_ when you first moved in.

You were relaxing in the kitchen, reading up some news on your phone. Maybe making vague posts about your ‘roommate’ and you on your social media, some of your friends (local and otherwise) teasing you, asking things like “Is she hot?” “Is she single?” “Can she deadlift me and toss me around the bedroom?” And your personal favorite, a Gif of Spike from Cowboy Bebop going, “I love the kind of woman that can kick my ass.”

You had some fantastic friends, really.

You were about to reply when you hear a loud noise coming from the other room, the room Phasma was in, and before you could get up to check, she herself came bursting on in, holding something.

She dropped it onto the table in front of you, and she had a pretty angry expression on her face, so you looked down at the culprit object that had her so riled up.

_Oh._

A single, delicately framed picture of Luke Skywalker. She probably recognized him. You only had that for one reason, though. The way he was dressed.

You loved Mark Hamil. He’s such a cool and kind guy, loving all the ideas that fans had made up for Luke and the likes.

But the way he _dressed_ in that specific, professionally framed photo, was the _poncho outfit._

The very sight of it again made you lose your marbles; you burst out laughing, much to the chagrin of Phasma, who shuffled back and forth, as if trying to decipher why you had reacted in such a way.

“ _Stop that!_ ” She hissed, crossing her arms promptly over her chest to stand taller.

You laughed only more.

She grabbed the picture frame, held it up, and eyed it closely. It was like she was burning holes into it. You tried to get yourself back together, to compose yourself to explain the situation, but you just _couldn’t._

She huffed, her shoulders slouching in defeat as your laughter turned into fits of giggling. She wiped a stray tear from your eye, before taking in a big, shaky breath, then exhaling.

“Okay,” you began, your face hurting from the huge smile, “I _can_ explain that.”

“Can you, now?” Phasma gave you a scrutinizing look, before holding the picture in front of your face. You had to bite back more laughter.

“It’s his outfit,” you said through gleefully gritted teeth. “The iconic _Poncho_ outfit. It’s _hilarious._ I can’t believe he ever wore that when he was younger.”

Being taken aback would be an understatement for Phasma, really. She looked so… _Kerfuffled,_ and in distress and exasperation, all at once. It was a very funny expression. She pulled the picture back from you, giving it a good, long look, a brow arched in extreme confusion. She then gently set it down, tossing her arms up, before folding them in a dramatic huff.

“ _I guess!_ ” She whisper-yelled, not wanting to make eye-contact with you.

Needless to say, though, you bring up the Poncho thing to her, and she hates it, and you lose it every single time.

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO ALSO A L S O PSA  
> IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANT ME TO WRITE INTO THIS FIC, LEMME KNOW, hit me up at my tumblr (http://mugggy.tumblr.com/) or just leave comments on here. i WILL see them and i WILL maybe do them if i think they fit into here. as silly as all the current chapters seem, there WILL be a plotline soon to come (spoilers: it involves a redemption arc for our lady phasma B) )
> 
> oh my god, what am i doing with my life, how has it come to this, why me, why me  
> ~my newest song release
> 
> a thing to be noted: chapters will come as i feel they should, or whenever i get an idea or something silly like that. pft, ideas, am i right? anyway, they'll all vary in length, so bare with me.
> 
> if you want to get in contact with me or want to know when this updates or just like memes and shiny trashcan wives who can lift ten emo baby kylo rens and seven grumpy gay huxs, go follow my blog on tumblr!  
> http://mugggy.tumblr.com/


End file.
